


Loving Him Was Red

by Tonight_At_Noon



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Teen Romance, a thing i just made up, but it does have rose day, darcy and bucky's town doesn't have valentine's day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-18 00:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18975049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tonight_At_Noon/pseuds/Tonight_At_Noon
Summary: Bucky shows up at her house at 11:45 at night, anxious to tell her something.





	Loving Him Was Red

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this around Valentine's Day, but never finished. Then, this morning (literally, just a couple of hours ago), I picked it up again. Might write a couple of more fics set in this universe, but do not hold me to that.
> 
> Enjoy this sickeningly fluffy mess.

"Why do kids still do this shit? We're not in the fourth grade anymore."

It took Darcy a few seconds to realise he was talking to her, and in those few seconds he closed her locker for her, twisted the lock, and took her books straight from her arms, heading towards the E hallway without waiting for her brain to catch up to the situation.

She scrambled forward, letting out an annoyed huff once she reached him and snatching her books. He didn't flinch. He was too busy still complaining about Rose Day.

"I mean, I get it when you're a kid. It's fun to get a bunch of candy from a bunch of people with dorky little cards. I used to save that shit for as long as I could, you know? I think that self-taught self-discipline is why I last so long in bed."

A noise of disgust emerged from the back of Darcy's throat. Her walking companion smiled at her and nudged her with his hip. She nudged him back harder, causing him to stumble into a group of freshman girls giggling about the roses handed to them during their lunch period. Despite those roses, which no doubt were given to them by their boyfriends of that week, they all stared wide-eyed as they received their laughing apology.

She kept walking, only glancing behind to make sure he wasn't trying to get himself thrown in jail by flirting with the horde of 14 year-olds. He wasn't. Thankfully.

"But now that we're older," he said, falling into step beside her once more, talking as if there hadn't been a pause to their very one-sided conversation, "it's just weird. No-one should think they only have to show affection for their partner one day a year, and no-one should feel such immense pressure to declare their love for someone they've never spoken to before through notes attached to fucking roses. If we're gonna keep up this lousy tradition, can we at least go back to just the candy?"

"You don't even eat candy," she said.

"I eat candy," he countered haughtily, as if they were playing a game about who, between him and her, knew him better. 

Darcy scoffed, ignoring the looks the pair were getting from their fellow students. _We're just friends_ , she wanted to shout. _If you could even call us that_! _You see us walking together every day_ , _it shouldn't be that fascinating anymore_!

"When do you eat candy?" she asked. "I've not seen you eat a single piece of candy since you joined the swim team freshman year."

"I've snuck a few things here and there. You know I can't resist skittles. But only”—

—“But only the red ones,” she finished for him, paying no mind to the grin that curved his mouth upwards.

It was true—he could never turn down a classic pack of skittles. Even when they belonged to someone else. Namely, her.

"Just," she said as they approached their English classroom, "let people be stupid and in love. Give them time to become as bitter as you."

He was about to reply—she could just see the snarky retort forming behind his blue eyes—but the warning bell disrupted him. Whatever he was going to say would have to wait until after Mr. Coulson's AP English lit class. He had never been so vocal about hating their town’s replacement for Valentine’s Day before. Rose Day took over a few decades back, named as such because it took place, supposedly, on the day the rose garden in the town centre was in its fullest bloom. People of all ages would take their date to the garden and enjoy a relaxing May stroll through the rose bushes. 

She could have sworn Bucky had taken someone last year, but maybe she was misremembering. Or, maybe it had been such a horrible time that he was swearing off Rose Day for good.

Darcy entered the small room first and broke free from her walking buddy. She smiled at her friend Nat in the second row of seats. Five roses adorned the edge of her desk. Sitting beside the redhead, Darcy pointed to the small bouquet.

"Are they all from one person, or is there going to be some medieval style jousting match for your hand at the end of the day?" she teased.

Nat fluffed her hair and raised a single eyebrow. "I wouldn't be opposed to that idea. I'll suggest it to them all later."

"So it is five different guys?"

"Four. You know the kid who joined the swim team this year? Used to be all scrawny, but now his bicep is as big as my head?"

"Steve, yeah," Darcy said. "He and Bucky are practically best friends."

Both of Nat's eyebrows went up this time. "I thought you and Bucky were best friends?"

"We're not even friends, really," Darcy said, ignoring the knot forming in her belly—she hated that damned knot, "and besides, we're not talking about me and Bucky, we're talking about you and Steve."

"Right, right," Nat surrendered. "Steve gave me two roses. And the cards didn't say anything perverted on them like the others.”

“That’s one point for Steve.”

“Two, I think. He put Beach Boy lyrics in the cards.”

“I didn’t think anyone besides me knew about your secret love for the Beach Boys,” Darcy said, opening her notebook when Mr. Coulson entered the room. They had thirty seconds from the time he closed the door until the final bell rang. Anyone stuck on the other side after that was forced to stand at the front of the room and deliver a passage from whatever book they were currently reading. She kept hoping someone would be late just so she could hear Fitzgerald’s words read aloud by someone other than Mr. Coulson. 

“He caught me singing ‘Kokomo’ the other week during AP chem. He mentioned that they were one of his mom’s favourite bands—did you know his mom was dead?” Nat asked abruptly just as the final bell chimed, leaving Darcy to stare with her mouth hanging slightly open. 

Even if there was time to respond, what the hell would she say to that?

Nat and her weird fondness for sad backstories. She and Steve Rogers would get along great. The Beach Boys and death—a combination for the ages.

Coulson settled into his routine of excitedly analysing the small portion of text they were required to read since last class. They were nearing the end of Gatsby’s story, and Mr. Coulson could not keep his throat clear as he talked of the moment Tom and Daisy reconciled, leaving Gatsby alone in his big house. 

As usual, AP lit passed quickly. Their time was up before they could discuss the foreshadowing of Gatsby’s request to keep water in the pool. Seconds following the bell’s clang, Darcy was out of her seat and readying herself for the night of homework ahead. She left Nat pondering over which boy to approach now that school was over—though Darcy knew which one she would choose—and escaped the room with Bucky on her heels. 

“Are you still taking me home?” she asked, her voice rising, unsurprised by Bucky’s materialisation at her side. The halls were always loudest at the end of the day, but there was an especially annoying buzz in the air thanks to Rose Day. 

“When have I ever not taken you home?” 

Darcy side-eyed him. “A lot of times. For starters, you’ve only been driving for two years. You also don’t give me rides when you’re meeting a girl—which, by my calculations, has occurred five separate times since the beginning of this school year. And, might I add, you only drive me home because your mother makes you.” Reaching her locker, Darcy twists the lock until it snaps open and pulls out her backpack.

“You’ve counted how many girls I’ve hooked up with this year? If I didn’t know any better,” Bucky said, yanking open his own locker two down from hers, “I’d say you were jealous.”

That knot pulsed. Damn the knot. Darcy aggressively tucked her long hair behind her ears, noting Bucky doing the same thing, and slammed her locker shut. “Dream on, Don Juan. I’m just keeping track of how many times I’ve had to ride the disgusting school bus. As a senior, it’s degrading.”

“Lucky for you,” Bucky said, closing his locker and stepping towards her, looming over her like a handsome giant, “I have no date this Rose Day. It’s you and me, kid, just like the old days.” He smiled, slinging his arm around her shoulders and guiding them towards the doors nearest their block of lockers. 

Darcy retreated from his electric touch, surprised by the speediness of their exit. Typically, he wanted to hang around for at least twenty minutes and talk to every person he vaguely knew. Which generally took them all around the school, even to the freshman locker hall. But there must have been a rerun of _Futurama_ on that night, or a certain porn flick he’d been saving for the town’s big day. 

_Just like the old days_ , he’d said. 

This, sitting beside him in his Audi, the damned knot throbbing away, making her feel sick, was nothing like the old days. The only thing remotely similar to _then_ was the moody, pop-punk music blasting through the speakers. Bucky Barnes never escaped his My Chemical Romance love affair like so many other kids their age. 

But everything else was different. They weren’t kids anymore, just as he’d said earlier. This wasn’t a playdate set up by their moms as an excuse for them to day drink and complain about their husbands. This wasn’t her watching him play video games silently while her mom was at work because they both refused to talk the instant they hit puberty. 

This was senior year, two weeks out from graduation. From the _rest of their lives_ finally reaching them. From, well . . . from goodbye. Undoubtedly, even though their universities were a mere one hour’s drive apart. 

This was Darcy Lewis, looking over at Bucky Barnes, wondering when the hell she started liking him as more than a carpool buddy. 

No-one had asked her permission. The first she knew of this sudden shift in her feelings was the third week of senior year when she caught him sneaking into an empty classroom—in the middle of a school day, of course—with some girl. Watching that scene unfold before her eyes, listening to their airy giggles echo around the dead hall, awoke something in Darcy. Seconds after the door closed, her stomach twisted and tangled. She had yet to figure out a way to untwist and untangle it, and if she didn’t manage it soon, she would be leaving town, and Bucky, still feeling this way. And that was not allowed to happen. 

She was not this kind of girl. The kind of girl to fawn over a guy way out of her league. To spend night and day caught up in fantasies of sudden love proclamations.   
Except she clearly was that kind of girl. But only for Bucky Barnes.

He dropped her off at her place, turning the music down and smiling at her with his shining teeth as she exited the Audi. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Darce,” he said through the window, his goodbye scratchy from trying to properly sing along to the mixtape permanently in his car. 

“Yeah. See you tomorrow, Buck. Have a good night.” She watched him drive away, shivering despite the humidity, and didn’t go inside until he disappeared around the bend.

 

*** * ***   


 

Midway through Darcy’s viewing of _Never Been Kissed_ , her favourite romantic comedy (not that she ever told anybody about her affinity for the film genre—people were so cruel to girls who enjoyed rom-coms), the doorbell to the one-level house she shared with her parents chimed, startling her. The time on her phone read 11:45. Who the fuck was ringing her doorbell at 11:45 at night? 

_Murderers_ , she reasoned, reaching for the golf club her dad always gave her whenever her parents left town for the night. 

The doorbell went again. Darcy jumped. Pausing the movie, she dialled 9-1-1 on her cell phone. Her thumb hovered over the CALL button as she stood and made her way to the door. With the golf club held tightly in her fist, Darcy, on her tip-toes, stared through the peephole, prepared to memorise any possible detail of the most-definitely-murderers for when she had to call the police. 

“Oh,” she said, sagging under the cloud of reassurance that she was not going to die that night, “it’s you.”

Then, “What the fuck are you doing here? It’s almost midnight, Bucky!” she said through the door. He crouched to meet her eye at the peep-hole. 

“Sorry, Darce. It couldn’t wait,” he said. “Can you please let me in?” He fluttered his eyes. Pouted his lips. 

It was disgusting, but Darcy gave in. Of course she gave in. This was the beginning scene of one of her many fantasies—she had to see how it played out.

Locking her phone and sliding it into her back pocket, Darcy opened the door. Bucky entered on the tips of his trainers. His hair was wet. It smelled of chlorine and the Dove shampoo he liked. The one that smelled of cucumbers. 

“Why are you walking like that?” she asked, shutting the door and double-locking it. 

He turned. His eyes moved quickly from her face to the golf club still in her hand. Frowning, his lips pulling into a smile, he retorted, “Why are you holding a golf club?” 

“Because I was thinking of sneaking out and playing a few rounds.”

“Really?”

“No, not really,” she said, chucking the thing at Bucky’s legs. He jumped back and winced as it crashed to the floor, his head twisting towards the hallway beyond the lounge. “I thought you were a serial killer come to slaughter me.”

His head was still facing the other direction. “Why’d you throw it? You’re gonna wake your parents,” he whispered. “And you really thought I was a serial killer?” He faced her again. “Do we even have serial killers around here?”

“I don’t know! Maybe there’s some random, lonely guy who’s just starting out in the serial killing business, and he thought I would make the perfect first victim for what will eventually turn into a lengthy portfolio,” she said. “My parents are out of town for the night. You don’t have to worry about waking them.”

Bucky straightened. “The throwing of the golf club makes sense now,” he noted. “Sorry for scaring you.”

“Why are you here, Bucky?” she asked. “It’s a quarter to midnight.”

Staring at his wrist, Bucky said, “Actually, it’s seven minutes to midnight, which means I’ve got to act fast.”

“Act fast? Bucky, you’ve lost me.”

Suddenly, he looked nervous. She noticed the slight tremble of his fingers as he lowered his arm. The waver in his smirk. The off energy as he ran a hand through his wet hair. 

Bucky Barnes was standing in her living room at seven minutes to midnight on Rose Day, and he was nervous. 

Oh. God. 

Oh, no.

No.

Was this about to happen?

_Wake up, Darcy_. _Wake the fuck up_. 

She surreptitiously pinched her wrist. Nothing happened. Which meant she was awake. Which meant Bucky was really about to do this. 

The knot in her stomach pulsed hotly. 

“I was going to do this before I dropped you off,” he said, his volume changing every few words from soft to very loud. “I was going to take you to the garden and do this.” He went quiet. 

“Do . . . what?” Darcy asked. The damned knot was on fire.

“Look, you and me both know that I’m horrible with words,” he stammered.

The knot was going to explode. “Do we both know that? You’re the king of talking your way out of situations you don’t want to be in, and vice versa.”

Bucky laughed. A small laugh. Probably the smallest laugh she had ever heard. “I’m bad with words when the words mean something,” he said, reaching into his front pocket and pulling a plastic sandwich bag out. Inside were red dots. “I’m good with gestures, though, I think. I hope.” 

He took a couple of steps towards her. She had to stop herself from backing away. This was a fantasy come to life. Only it was so much scarier. In her head, she always flung herself at him. But right now all she wanted to do was vomit. 

He extended his arm. She did the same, and he dropped the bag into her hand. It was heavy.

“To make up for all the ones I’ve stolen over the years,” he explained.

Darcy, her heart racing, peeked at the contents. Skittles. “Skittles,” she said aloud. “But only”—

—“But only the red ones,” he finished. 

Peeking up at him, Darcy felt she could pass out. “What does this mean?”

There was that tiny, frightened laugh again. “Take a wild guess.”

She knew what it meant. But she couldn’t believe it.

“I don’t believe it,” she said. “This is for some school prank show, right? It’s a joke?”

“What?” He stepped forward again. The gap between them was almost closed. “Do you really think I’d do that?”

She stared at the skittles. “No. Of course not. This just doesn’t make any sense.”

“It doesn’t make any sense that I’d like my best friend as more than a friend? That after all of the time we’ve spent together since we were kids, my feelings for you grew from platonic to romantic? Darcy,” he said, and she had no choice but to look into his eyes. They were burning. Blue flames scorched her retinas. Her cheeks were surely as red as the sweets in her hand. “I like you. I have done for a while now.”

Was she crying? She blinked. No tears, thank God. She couldn’t handle that kind of humiliation. 

“For how long?” 

Another laugh. More confident this time. “Last Halloween, you had a bag of skittles with you all day, and before we left school, you handed me the bag. You’d saved all the red ones for me.” 

She remembered that. It hadn’t been a conscious decision. He did stare at her nearly the whole drive home that afternoon. The feel of his eyes on her had tightened the damned knot until she couldn’t breathe. 

“So.” Bucky knocked his forehead against hers. She didn’t realise he had moved even closer. “What do you think?”

What did she think? She thought this was too good to be true. She thought Bucky would wake up in the morning regretting immensely what he had admitted tonight. She thought even if it did work out now, they were going to different schools in the fall and would probably drift apart. Or maybe only he would drift and leave her heartbroken and depressed. 

She thought . . . she was happy. Warmth unravelled within her, undoing the knot. She smiled, tilting her head upwards. Bucky recognised the look on her face and smiled too. 

“I think,” she said, “that I like you too.”

Bucky laughed. A real, giddy laugh. The type of laugh that came after Darcy told a particularly good joke. “Thank God,” he said. “This would have been really embarrassing if you’d said you only see me as a friend.”

He didn’t give her a chance to respond. He coiled his arms around her waist and bent low, his lips colliding with hers. The skittles fell to the ground with a thump. Darcy’s hands tangled in Bucky’s damp hair. She held him against her, memorising the feel of his mouth, inside and out.

“We’re ruining our friendship,” she said when they broke apart for breath.

“I know,” he said, kissing her again. “I know, and I don’t care.”

Darcy smiled into the kiss. 

Honestly, she didn’t care either.

 

 


End file.
